Margaret rolled down her window and smiled sweetly at the young officer.
“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?” he asked.
“Oh, son, at my age, I don’t even check the speedometer. I just keep up with traffic.”
The officer sighed. “There is no traffic.”
She grinned. “Well then, I must be winning!”
When asked for her license, Margaret dug through her purse—tissues, candies, even an old coupon—but no license.
“I must have left it at home,” she said, then added, “But I don’t really need one.”
“Why not?” the officer asked.
She leaned in. “Because I don’t technically own this car.”
Within minutes, backup arrived. A senior officer approached and asked for ID. Margaret calmly handed over a valid license.
“This is your car, ma’am,” he said, confused.
“Of course it is,” she replied.
The first officer stammered, “But you said you stole it!”
Margaret smiled. “And I bet I never told you I was speeding either.”
She drove off, chuckling, “Works every time.”
Later, a man rushed into a police station in tears.
“My wife is missing!” he cried.
The sergeant asked questions—height, weight, eye color—but the man barely knew.
“What car was she driving?” the sergeant asked.
“My Jeep!” the man sobbed, then listed every detail of it.
The sergeant handed him a tissue. “Don’t worry… we’ll find your Jeep.” 
